


Do You Want To

by StrengthThroughWounding



Category: AFI, AFIslash
Genre: Angst, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 12:26:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3067778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrengthThroughWounding/pseuds/StrengthThroughWounding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>high school and stuff</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do You Want To

  
[Do You Want To](http://afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=8756) by [HeartOfGlass](http://afislash.com/viewuser.php?uid=3162)  


  
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Story Notes:

Soccer ball a slave to his cleats, Adam moves swiftly around the empty field. He’s unhindered by the mud, the grass slick from rain, having quickly become accustomed to it during the game that ended thirty minutes ago.

From a car parked twenty yards away, Davey watches Adam dart about, dancing around his windshield wipers as they struggle to clear waves of rain. The rhythmic squeaking of the wipers as they move back and forth is all but drowned out by the sound of water pounding against compressed glass. Adam is barely a distorted stick figure, only recognized by Davey because he knew to find him here.

Adam doesn’t come close to noticing that Davey’s arrived. He’s focused only on the ball beneath his feet, and the balance required to move with it. The incessant rain isn’t quite enough to keep up with the mud accumulating on his legs, splattering far up his thighs. Most of his jersey is stained with the wet dirt from multiple falls during the game. Falls that were not mistakes, but wholly strategic. On the field, Adam rarely makes mistakes.

Davey knows he should get out of the car, tell Adam he’s here and he can go now, but he looks so intensely involved in his drills, and Davey would hate to break the connection he has with the ball. Normally he loves watching Adam play soccer, observing the grace with which he commands and controls his body. In person Adam is less than suave, mostly awkward and unsure of himself. But on the field, he becomes a paragon of coordination, confident in every move he makes. In particular, Davey loves the look on his face, the way his brow knits and he bites his lip, clear signals that the world outside the game has disappeared.

Even though he can’t see it, Davey knows he’s making that face right now. That’s why he hasn’t noticed the car yet, despite the fact that he called Davey to come pick him up twenty minutes ago. He’s already back in the zone, pushing his aching muscles for every minute they’re worth.

Finally Davey gets out of the car, bracing himself for the rain. Being a teenage boy, he’s not one to consider Anoraks or umbrellas; nothing of the sort ever crossed his mind. He walks over to the field, letting the rain create inky spots on his faded black tee shirt, and run down his bare arms. As he gets closer, he can hear the soft taps every time Adam’s cleat hits the ball. He waits until Adam takes a shot at the empty goal before stepping onto the field.

“Adam, hey.”

Adam turns around, looking dazed as though he’s just been awoken from a dream. The fierce intensity ebbs off his face as he looks at Davey, pulling his sweatband off his forehead. The hair it was holding up falls just below his eyebrows, where sweat and water begin running down his nose.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Sure. I’m sorry your dad couldn’t make it…”

Anger flashes in Adam’s eyes at the mention of his father, the corners of his mouth twitching downwards subtly.

“Whatever, I don’t really want to talk about it.” He avoids complaining about anything to Davey, convinced it makes him sound pathetic. Still, he doesn’t have the energy to express quite how glad he is to see his friend. While he hates how unreliable and absent his father is, he wasn’t exactly dismayed when he had an excuse to call Davey.

“Sorry. How was the game?”

Adam doesn’t really want to talk about the game either, but having no excuse, he obliges. “Good.” One word is enough, right?

“You score?”

Trying not to show his frustration: “Twice, one assist.”

“That’s awesome!” Davey clasps a hand on his shoulder and Adam feels the familiar rush of adrenaline he always gets when Davey touches him. Even through the fabric of his jersey, the contact sends a faint tingling sensation down his arm. He could lean into it, rub up against Davey like a cat against a post, but he doesn’t want to seem desperate. All he does is shrug, and they start walking towards the car.

“You know, I’m really sorry but… I shouldn’t let you in the car all wet and muddy like that. If it was my car I wouldn’t care, I swear, but my parents would kill me if-”

Adam cuts him off when he’s made his point. “Yeah, yeah it’s not a big deal. I’ll take my shit off and put it in the back.”

In effort to avoid an awkward situation, Davey jumps immediately into the driver’s seat while Adam removes most of his clothing behind the van. It’s tempting to watch, but there’s really no way to excuse that sort of behavior; there’s one and only one reason for doing that, and it’s to gawk at Adam like a rare bird on display. To appease the peeping tom within, Davey lets himself glance in one of the side mirrors, watching the tiny reflection of Adam strip off his socks and shin guards. Before the show gets too good, he turns his attention to starting the car, and finding something decent on the radio. Fiona Apple’s _Criminal_ is the best he can do.

“This song is fucking weird,” Adam grumbles as he climbs into the car, bare save for a tight pair of navy briefs.

Davey offers a shrug. “I like it.” He’s distraught by the fact that trying not to look at Adam at all is just as obvious as staring at him. Two ambivalent, sideways glances later, Adam’s caught on.

“Stop that.” He’s suppressing a grin, finally looking something other than miserable. The knowledge that his state of undress is making Davey uncomfortable pleases him, because he knows what kind of uncomfortable it is; more so ‘my pants are too tight’ than ‘this is so gay.’

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” Davey says, avoiding eye contact as he busies himself pulling out onto the road. He knows, and he knows that Adam knows he knows.

Adam squirms about in the seat, trying to find a way to make the hot leather more comfortable against his almost naked body. In the cramped quarters of the van, he feels suffocated and much too warm. The front seat of a car is exactly the opposite of the soccer field, and he hates it.

“I hate your car, man.”

Davey rolls his eyes. “Oh sorry, I would’ve brought the limo but it’s in the shop.”

“Sorry it’s just… can I roll down the window?”

Davey hesitates, considering the damage the rain might do to the interior, but ultimately, he can’t bring himself to say no. “Fine.”

Davey endures the cold spray of rain, satisfied knowing that it’s at least making Adam feel good. The rest of the ride is silent, because Adam is either tired or still too angry for small talk, and Davey doesn’t feel the need to say much. He wonders if Adam will ask him inside, or if he’s in a bad enough mood that he wants to be alone and brood.

When they pull into the driveway, Adam just sits there, staring ahead at the empty house. He doesn’t want to go inside, but he wants to get out of the car, wants the open space of his yard.

“Do you have anything to do tonight?”

Davey finally turns to look Adam straight on, and shakes his head.

“I can stay, if that’s what you mean,” he says, before realizing how presumptuous it sounds.

“Okay.”

Adam gets out of the car first, making for the trunk where his clothes are. Davey wonders what the neighbors must think, but he knows Adam doesn’t care. If anything, he’s hoping that someone will mention this to his parents, embarrassing them at a party. They’ll have to excuse their wayward son, explaining that he’s having a “rough time.” But the truth is, this doesn’t have anything to do with how Adam’s doing; he simply doesn’t see a reason why he should give a fuck if his neighbors see him in his underwear. It certainly wouldn’t be the first scantily clad teenager they’d ever seen, so why should it matter?

It turns Davey on a little bit, to know that anyone could be admiring Adam from afar right now, but he’s the only one who gets to see him up close. He knows he could get near enough to count the water droplets collecting on his back and shoulders, but he doesn’t; he stands a few feet away, where he can still see the way Adam’s muscles move under his skin. Most tantalizing is when he reaches up to pull the trunk closed, and his abdomen stretches and tightens, the slightest hint of pubic hair creeping out of his waistband. Davey’s mouth is dry as he witnesses this, and he’s disappointed when the trunk is shut and Adam is clutching his wet, muddy clothes to his chest.

“Fuckin’ voyeur.”

Davey shrugs, to neither acknowledge nor deny the accusation.

They head inside, where Adam immediately deposits his soiled uniform onto the floor of the foyer. The house isn’t nice enough to make this look like a particularly massive crime, but anyone knows it’s the sort of thing that would drive a mother mad.

“Are you going to shower?”

“No. Don’t feel like it.”

Davey can’t imagine why someone wouldn’t feel like taking a shower after running around on a muddy field all afternoon, but he’s secretly glad. It’s so secret that he’s hardly able to admit it to himself, but he likes everything about post-game Adam, and he doesn’t want it washed away. That musk, for one thing, the unmistakable scent of exhausted athlete and teenage boy; it always reminded him of Adam, and always turned him on.

“Okay. I’m going to go change into some of your clothes if that’s cool? I can’t fucking stand being in this wet shirt.”

Adam shrugs. “Go for it.”

And so Davey does, heading up the stairs to Adam’s room, alone. The journey is familiar; he’s been in this house almost as often as he’s been in his own, and many nights have been spent in Adam’s bedroom. Four blue walls and an incredibly messy floor welcome him, as does the faint smell of Adam’s deodorant and dirty socks. His poster assortment shows a timeline that Davey had memorized years ago. The older posters of soccer stars mid-kick clash oddly with images of hardcore bands. Davey spots the newest addition to his collection- a flyer from a Dangers show they recently attended.

He beings to pull his shirt off, smiling to himself as he remembers going to that show; he’d never seen Adam fan-boy so shamelessly in the presence of a band before, but when they met the singer, he’d barely been able to put words together. It was fun, to see him humbled for once.

Adam’s dresser does not seem to be organized in any apparent way; each drawer holds just as many socks as it does pants and shirts. Davey rifles about, not concerned about upsetting any hidden order, looking for a shirt small enough not to swallow him whole.

When he finally finds one, he stands up, and something in the mirror catches his eye: Adam’s reflection. He’s standing in the doorway, still barley wearing clothing, quietly watching Davey. After recovering from his initial startle, Davey turns around, ready to ask Adam if he needs something or what, because he doesn’t really get why he would just stand there like that, not saying anything at all.

But when he looks closer at his friend, he doesn’t need to ask. The way Adam’s looking at him, the predatory glint in his eye, says it all. He leers at Davey like a starving wolf, temptation etched into all of his features.

Davey knows exactly what this is; an urge Adam normally quells, surfacing on a bad day, when he doesn’t have the energy to control himself. And Davey had been taunting him with his stares, daring him to do something about the undeniable chemistry brewing between them. Excitement wells in the very pit of Davey’s stomach, bristling up his spine until the back of his neck feels hot, a flush that creeps into his cheeks. Adam notices, and finally steps into the room, closing the door behind him.

Davey doesn’t realize it, but he drops the shirt he’s been holding, as if to subconsciously send the message that he’s ready to do something other than put clothes on. The truth is he’d felt this coming since the second Adam got into his car; his need permeated the air in an unmistakable way, and hung around foreshadowing this as clearly as black clouds before a storm. And here, now, the storm is breaking.

“Hey, Ad.” Davey offers this quiet greeting as a way to ease the tension until Adam makes his way across the room. Quickly, he is inches away from Davey, standing close enough to make their differences in size noticeable; he looms large over the smaller boy, well filled out body making Davey’s average frame look immature and undeveloped.

“Davey.” Adam’s voice is husky, with the slightest hint of a plea; he wants the permission he knows he has, and on top of that he wants encouragement. He wants to know that Davey isn’t just okay with this, but that he too craves it, at least on some level.

“Yeah?” He knows this isn’t the appropriate response, but the syllable squeaks out thoughtlessly. He’s more focused on forcing himself not to look down, no matter how badly he wants to see if Adam is hard. He’s seen Adam hard more than a few times, and nothing makes him drool more than watching the fabric of Adam’s underwear stretch while he does absolutely nothing to hide it. His boldness, the degree to which he is comfortable with himself that way, is dangerously alluring. Finally, he breaks down and looks, one quick glance.

As expected, said glance does not go unnoticed.

“You see?”

Davey swallows hard, nods. Adam reaches forward and takes a hold of both of Davey’s arms, fingers grasping just below the crook of his elbows. He tilts his head back and curses under his breath.

“What?”

“You. Fuck.” He takes a deep breath through his nose, then attempts to look Davey in the eye, but finds his gaze is lowered. Instead he studies his face intently, drinking in the rouge that’s crept on to his usually pale skin; the color perfectly contours his elegant cheekbones, creeping back straight to his ears.

“You can… if you want. I mean… I’d like you to.” Davey’s not exactly sure what verb he’s referring to, but he can’t think of a single thing he wouldn’t like Adam to do to him right now; giving him free rein seems like the best idea.

“To what?” Shocking, Adam demands the specificity Davey had deliberately left out.

In a small, needy voice: “Touch me…” It’s exactly the plea Adam’s been waiting for all these years. With his body, he runs Davey into the nearest wall, the weight of their forms intertwined hitting it with a thud. Adam pins Davey in place with one large hand, using the other to brace himself against the wall. His legs are trembling almost violently as his body attempts to cope with the flood of endorphins.

“Dave.” And he looks up, just like Adam was hoping. He looks up to meet Adam’s smoldering gaze, and almost looks back down again in light of the intensity; there is nothing calm or cool about the blue of Adam’s irises, it’s the color blue that blazes when you light a stove, the part of the flame you’re especially not supposed to touch.

In the next second, Adam’s hands are running down Davey’s sides, following the oblique lines of his ribcage. His fingers fit easily in the spaces between the slender bones, as though Davey’s torso was specifically crafted for Adam’s grip.

“Like this?” Adam asks. “This is how you’d like…”

Davey nods, though the truth is he has no idea what he wants, not the way Adam does. He buries his face in Adam’s neck, mouth slightly agape to taste the sweat on his flesh, hoping his friend will take the lead as he does so well.

Abruptly, Adam steps away, grabbing Davey’s arms again and pulling him to the floor. They land side by side, but Adam wastes no time in climbing atop Davey, laying his full weight on him as though he’s afraid Davey will try to escape.

The carpet is coarse on Davey’s bare back but tickles the sensitive skin of his calves. In contrast, Adam’s body pinning him down is smooth and hard, slightly slippery, entirely warm. Rather than feeling trapped, he feels embraced, aroused. Tentatively, he pushes his hips upwards, grinding his erection against whatever part of Adam is closest.

“Oh Jesus, Davey.”

Davey freezes. “What?”

Above him Adam shudders, wriggling as a shiver dances down his spine. “I can feel you.”

“Oh, I- I’m sorry,” Davey croaks, already trying to will his penis back to resting state.

“Don’t be stupid.” Adam accentuates the last syllable with a thrust of his own hips, then another, until he’s grinding against Davey in a fervent rhythm.

The look on Davey’s face is straight out of Adam’s fantasies, but he realizes he’s seen it before. Five years ago he was on top of Davey just like this, and Davey was all astounded and flushed and frozen like those stupid deer that won’t cross the road even when you fucking honk at them. Adam was angry, because Davey had accidentally broken the best model plane he’d made in his entire thirteen years of living. _I don’t see what the big deal is_ Davey had said, with nonchalance that made Adam’s blood boil. He’d grabbed Davey around the waist and promptly brought him to the ground. He can’t remember what happened beyond that, only Davey’s face- the exact face he sees now.

“Davey? Are you-”

Adam’s decision to speak again inspires Davey to say what’s been looping in his mind this entire time: “Do you really like guys?” Because this seems like the reasonable question to ask when your assumed-straight, hot as hell best friend grabs you and starts humping you one day out of goddamn nowhere.

Adam sits up, looking down at Davey as though he’s spoken another language. “What do you mean?”

“I just… I always thought you were straight.”

Adam’s hand roams over Davey’s hips, from one jutting bone to the other, coming dangerously close to the waistband of his shorts. “Do I like guys? I don’t know, Dave, I don’t really think about _guys_ … I do think about you, though.”

“Oh,” comes softly from Davey’s lips, as he struggles to nod in his horizontal position. This is more or less the answer he was expecting.

“Can I take your shorts off?”

This sets Davey’s heartbeat to double time as he considers Adam’s intentions. Sex? He’s never had sex before and he’s pretty sure Adam hasn’t either, at least not with a guy. Last month he hooked up with a girl, and Davey had assumed they went all the way, though he didn’t press for details. Secretly, he had been so jealous his stomach had ached, but he didn’t want Adam to feel guilty. Now, he isn’t so sure.

“Yeah,” Davey finally answers, eyes flicking down to his shorts momentarily. “Sure.” In the end, it doesn’t matter what Adam’s intentions are; if he only wanted to point and laugh at Davey’s erection, the answer still would’ve been yes.

Adam fingers work deftly to first undo the silver button, then pull the zipper. A few inches of red boxer fabric appear, pushed forward by Davey’s stiff cock. Trying not to be embarrassed in front of his friend, Davey lifts his ass off the ground, letting Adam yank his shorts down past his knees. Davey’s pale thighs quiver as he maneuvers the shorts past his ankles, then kicks them a pathetic six inches to the side.

The question of what to do next hangs heavy in the air as Adam ogles the newly exposed flesh and Davey stares anxiously the ceiling. More specifically, he locks his eyes on the fluorescent bars struggling to illuminate the room, letting the yellow light bleach his retinas until he sees nothing.

“Dave, can-”

At the sound of Adam’s voice, Davey’s already tense nerves are pushed over the edge. “You want to have sex?” he blurts, tearing his eyes away from the light and trying his best to look at Adam through the bright white orbs that cloud his vision.

Adam looks surprised. “What? Do _you_?”

“I don’t know, you’re the one who’s done it already, not me.” The words come out with spite, as much as Davey hadn’t intended them to.

Adam’s surprise turns to mild indignation. “Who told you that?”

“You did, kind of. There was that girl you said you got with-”

“Emily?” He shakes his head firmly. “I definitely didn’t have sex with her. We just messed around I guess, made out and stuff.”

Davey props himself up on his forearms. “Oh. Well that still gives you more experience than me.”

“You’ve never made out with anyone?” Adam asks, as if he doesn’t already know the answer.

Davey shakes his head, looking annoyed that Adam would even ask. “No.”

“Do you want to?”

The obvious answer to this gets caught in Davey’s throat, washed back by the wave of nervousness crashing through his body. He gets that this isn’t really a question as much as it is a proposal, and logically he knows it should come as no surprise after what just happened. Still, it floors him, awakens butterflies in stomach that until now had been in chrysalis.

Adam hovers over him, large palms splayed on either side of Davey’s shoulders. He waits for an answer with the patience only a best friend can have.

“Yes.” The sound of affirmation finds its way out in an exhalation, and Davey is relieved to see he hasn’t lost all ability to speak.

Adam gives a slight nod before closing in on Davey’s face, approaching his mouth with neither haste nor reservation. When their lips meet, his body burns with pleasure not because Davey is especially soft or delicious, and not because he receives the kiss with particular skill, but because he is _Davey_. He is not Emily, or any other girl Adam was never interested in to begin with; he’s the guy Adam shoots his load thinking about.

Davey tries to pour every ounce of himself into Adam’s impossibly wet mouth, wanting to escape into what he’s sure would be eternal bliss. Their tongues slide together as if they were meant to do nothing else, and Davey can taste salt from Adam’s sweat swirling into their shared saliva. It tastes and feels exactly how he would’ve expected, but also like nothing he ever could’ve imagined. He wonders briefly why they hadn’t decided to do this sooner.

When Adam pulls away, he rolls onto his back so that the two of them lay shoulder to shoulder. Davey is staring once again at the ceiling, looking as though his brain has been wiped clean. Adam gets nervous for a moment, and is about to ask Davey if everything is alright, but then he turns his head and speaks.

“You know what I’ve also never done?”

“What?”

Davey smirks. “Gotten a handjob.”

  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.afislash.com/viewstory.php?sid=8756>  



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